This is a reposting from A Wise Woman’s Journey
Word For The Day…
…
It is reminiscent of the times I should have reviewed what came to mind before giving voice to any thing. — I would have asked, where in my world did that come from? Is it who I am today, or an ol’ scratched skipping record-better off discarded? — What do I allow to influence me?
profuse growth
if not watched closely
—valley’s lily
Psalm 18:25,26
spring’s long return to
empty promises heralds
annoyed humdingers
A neighborhood announcement:
‘Put out your feeders – the hummingbirds are back!’
Sure enough, one of our annual visitors practically dive-bombed my husband to remind him that our portion of the buffet was not yet displayed.
After retrieving the feeder from the basement, we served up the concoction of hummingbird feed.
Recipe:
1:4 ratio white sugar/boiling water
– Allow mixture to cool before serving it up.
Last year was our first time to do this. Based on those visits, only a quarter of the bottle was used in a period of 4 days, then I would change out the mix for a fresh batch. Seems to get murky by the 4th day. This year we’re only filling the bottle 1/4 full then refilling it according to the usage.
It seems we only have one to two visitors. Is it because they are territorial, or because we have agressive magpies frequenting our yard? Maybe I wait too long between batches?
What Day Is It Anyway? Monday, May 18, 2020
I started this post as a response to RonovanWrites Might&Slight challenge not realizing it was already a week too late, and then it morphed into this haibun-type post thereby making my response extra late. Ah well – here it is anyway.
Calliope Hummingbird photo courtesy of Todd Goodrich, University of Montana (no copyright infringement intended)
valley growth
promises mountain
piqued beauty
Today is Wednesday, May 13, 2020. We were in town on Saturday running errands picking up our curbside order when I noticed there are blossoms on the trees.
I longed for the spring birds to return as we live in a little bit of a higher elevation, and they are not so keen on the two degrees temperature difference. When I moved here from the big city, I wasn’t used to the cacophany of the early dawn song. It drove me nuts! Having been here long enough now I miss it in the stillness of winter.
They are returning! We actually have neighborhood postings — The humming birds have returned. Put out your feeders! — and — Put your garbage cans in the garage, the bears are back!
Now tuning in for James and Anne “Almost Home” YouTube channel for their half hour of ukulele and cello music! Inspiring!
Gotta love it!
We let out the cat.
She leaves, and in short time returns.
I open the door about 4” against the cold air, wide enough to admit her.
She sits down – just outside of the opening.
I close the door.
She stands up – as if to start for the door.
I open the door.
An encore of this little dance before I realize she merely wants the option to come and go while the door remains open.
This is the fourth night my husband sleeps alone; a precaution against my cold. I am in the living room with our cat as an ankle bracelet.
An escaped cricket chirping for a mate woke me last night, but I was able to ignore it returning to my slumber. Tonight‘s encore makes him destined to be the star dish of a pet frog or anole. The blue dumpy frog eagerly approaches the wall of the vivarium.
Unsuccessful at locating the sleep disruptor, the call to rest wins over my consciousness. I recline and am grateful my husband is hard of hearing. —My ankle bracelet returns.
I must be recovering. Why else would I hunt for that elusive romantic?
cricket song
diner closed
— health is on the way
Overrun with bustling people who come from different countries, my belly is full of their belongings. I hope my driver can remove the aftermath of the meals they are enjoying amidst my seats on this Christmas trip.
The wind blows frigid, and frost appears in the corners of my windows.
With my precious cargo, I climb the narrow ridge along this mountainside where the tourists hold their collective breath. Even my friend, the river, has ceased babbling as I focus on my trek.
grand canyon tour
— hushed
frozen river whitecaps
From what I gleaned on the internet, this is my first haibun.
Journeys in the Attic 